


show me your technique, baby

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Demisexual Jackson, Fox Stiles, Jealous Jackson, M/M, Pole Dancing, Public Arousal, Teasing, Unusual Hobbies, Werewolf Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson didn’t figure that Stiles would take him to a strip club for their anniversary. Of course, he also didn’t figure he’d be the one on the pole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me your technique, baby

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for prompt #150 at fullmoon_ficlet (amnesty) and is also for prompt #127 (technique). I struggled at first, then I went to bleep0bleep’s SFW plot generator and found a perfect plot outline (Strip Club, Angst, Werewolves, Learning a hobby together) to go with the prompt of technique and now there’s this. Which is fun and silly. I hope. It is also hot off the fingertips and absolutely unbetaed so I apologize for any errors!

“You have got to be kidding me.” Jackson’s eyes flare blue briefly in the dim light of the Downward Dog. He refuses to set a foot further in than the doorway, but of course Stiles is already halfway across the floor, threading his way between empty tables and waving at the woman sitting near the stage.

“Not kidding,” Stiles replies. Of course he doesn’t yell, since he knows damn well that Jackson can hear him. But that doesn’t mean that Jackson is going to go running to his side, not when he can stand right where he is, listening as Stiles introduces himself. “And that asshole over there is Jackson.” Stiles waves his fingers, and Jackson ignores him. “You said fifty bucks for an hour, right?”

An hour of what? “Are you buying me a fucking lap dance for our anniversary?” Jackson mutters. He hears the snort of laughter, because no, he is not beyond being as much of a childish dick as his husband. Fox ears, werewolf ears: they’re all good at hearing things normal humans wouldn’t.

“Adelaine,” the woman replies, shaking Stiles’s hand firmly. “And it’s fifty for the first hour, fifteen per half hour increment after that. “If you walk out of here and make an appointment for another day, it starts at fifty again. If you decide to get your own installation and want us to come there, we start at a hundred, and there is absolutely no touching.”

Installation? Wait a minute. “Stiles….”

“Yes, honeycakes?”

Jackson growls low under his breath. “Sweetums.” His voice drips politely. “Is there going to be a stripper pole installed in our bedroom when we get home?”

Stiles glances over at him, motions for Jackson to join them. “Nope, not yet. I figured we should learn how to use one first.”

“We’re going to strip,” Jackson says dryly.

Stiles waits until Jackson reaches him, pulls him in and kisses him slow and lingering. “No. We are going to dance. You’re strong, I’m strong, and hey, it means you get to show off for me, which you know I like. And it’s something we can do together where neither of us has an advantage. All the techniques are new.”

He has got to be kidding.

Jackson cradles Stiles’s head, pushes the kiss deep and just this side of angry. “I wasn’t planning on spending our anniversary in a strip club,” he grumbles. He’s never really been interested; he just doesn’t get off on people he’s not into. Sure, they’re pretty, but he doesn’t want to fuck them. The only person he wants in his bed is fucking Stiles Stilinski, thorn in his side and love of his life. God help them both.

“You mentioned a demo?” Stiles pulls back, glances at Adelaine. “I think we need to see this.”

“Not interested,” Jackson says, tone flat, and of course they both ignore him.

“Just have a seat right there, and the hour starts as soon as Elliot takes the stage.” Adelaine points to a tiny couch that’s barely bigger than a single overstuffed chair. Stiles grabs Jackson and wedges them both into the same space, curling towards him, flat of his hand draped over Jackson’s thigh. Jackson covers it before Stiles can slide his hand higher, and Stiles smirks.

“I know,” Stiles says quietly. “What I want you to think about is what it would be like to see me doing what Elliot does. Or if you did it in front of me. No one else, just the two of us.”

Jackson reserves judgment, crossing his arms and leaning back, letting Stiles drape his weight across him. When Elliot comes out, Jackson can admit he’s decent looking, although nowhere near as good looking as himself. Or Stiles. On the other hand, he catches a distinct scent. “Stiles, he’s a were.”

“They all are here, didn’t you notice the name?” Stiles snorts. “I swear, supernatural only clubs have really bizarre senses of humor.” He pats Jackson. “Don’t worry, the only werewolf I have eyes for is you.”

Elliot’s stripped down to only a pair of tight black underwear that leaves nothing to the imagination. He sits on the edge of the stage, explains that he’s going to go through a series of moves, explaining how to accomplish each, and then they’ll be able to come up and try.

And okay, it’s interesting. Jackson can see the strength in what Elliot does, the appeal in the positions. Imagining Stiles twisting himself into some of the more intricate poses is intriguing, but what really draws him in is the way that Elliot’s arms shake after a while, the way he seems to waver while holding himself in position.

“I can do better than that,” Jackson mutters.

“Of course you can.” Stiles pats his cheek, and Jackson hates the way Stiles sounds like he’s humoring Jackson.

“Yes, _of course_ I can,” Jackson repeats, spilling Stiles off of his lap and jumping up to the stage without bothering to use his hands. “Do it again,” he orders, and with a briefly raised eyebrow, Elliot does.

Jackson strips off his shirt and jeans, tossing them in a pile on one side along with his shoes and his socks. He was paying enough attention to know that skin contact with the pole is important to avoid slippage. He feels the weight of Elliot’s gaze on his body, and he smirks slightly, always happy to be appreciated. Elliot looks good, but Jackson looks fucking amazing, and he knows it.

He takes a place at the pole to the side of the one Elliot is using, and when Elliot starts to move through the sequence of poses and positions, Jackson follows. It takes him a few attempts before he can do it easily, without his strength wavering. He grips the pole tightly, feeling the slight bend in the metal from his strength. As he finds himself upside down, legs spread, he looks at where Stiles sits, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“You look good,” Stiles says, voice just a little ragged, and Jackson grins.

“I look fantastic.” Admittedly, it’s awkward having a conversation while hanging upside down, but when Jackson bends his elbows, lets his hips ride closer to the bar, Stiles squirms and shoves a hand against his crotch. “Say it,” Jackson tells him.

“You look fuckable,” Stiles grinds out. “You have your ass in the air, and I want to grind up against it. I want to be the fucking pole.”

Jackson rotates, rights himself and hooks one leg around the pole, holding himself in place, hips idly rocking to draw Stiles’s attention to him. “So you’re saying I have good technique?”

“You have amazing technique. Best hips ever, ten out of ten, can we go fuck now?” Stiles whines slightly when Jackson laughs. “Damn it, you are such a fucking asshole and a tease.”

“You started it,” Jackson points out, because he is _not_ the one who picked a strip club for an anniversary date.

“And I am happy to finish it if we can just go home,” Stiles says quickly. “Finish you, finish me, several times starting and finishing until we are both happy puddles of goo that sleep the night away. So yes, pole dancing done?”

Jackson could make this easy. Hell, he could take Stiles into the back room and take care of him right there, if no one forced them out of the club.

Or he could keep on being an asshole, because that’s what he does best.

Besides, it’s fun to get Stiles wound up, get him set on the edge of a hair trigger. And Stiles loves it too; it’s been a part of their courting ritual since they first hooked up five years ago.

“You haven’t showed me your technique yet,” Jackson tells him, voice low. Stiles’s gaze skitters to the edge of the stage, then up, until they are both looking at Elliot. Jackson had entirely forgotten he was there, and from the fresh flush of Stiles’s pale skin, so had he.

Elliot beckons, and Stiles climbs up more slowly, the fox under his skin not helping with his natural lack of grace. He scrambles into place, then strips just as slowly as he was moving, skin appearing by inches.

Because of course the fucker likes to tease Jackson, too.

Jackson holds his place on the pole by sheer force of will, refusing to allow either of them to see a wobble in his stance. He will not let Stiles see just how much he is getting to him.

Of course, all it’ll take is one look to the right place, much like Jackson can see just how interested Stiles is in the proceedings. That’s not going to be comfortable on a pole, at least not while moving. Jackson at least has the advantage of currently holding still.

Elliot helps Stiles get into position, his hands on Stiles’s back and ass until Jackson growls, flashing bright blue eyes. Elliot lifts both hands, stepping away quickly.

“I think we’ll be fine for a few minutes on our own,” Jackson suggests.

Elliot opens his mouth, and Stiles rushes to add, “No, really, I can hear Adelaine, can’t you? Go let her know that we’re just going to finish here, then I’ll give you cash for three hours and we’ll be out of your hair. Count the extra two hours as a tip or something, whatever you want.”

Or a bribe to leave them alone for five minutes. Not that Jackson is going to do anything on the stage, but he’s happy to let his expression suggest that he will.

“Show me,” he says instead, and Stiles’s awkward demeanor falls away.

Stiles grips the pole, hoists himself up, tilting upside down as he spins slowly around it, legs splayed. He hooks one knee around the pole, arches his back, chin high in the air, and all Jackson can think is about capturing him just like that, holding his head in place while he… _fuck_.

Stiles grins, like he knows what Jackson’s thinking.

“So. Installation.” Stiles drawls the word out, and Jackson growls at it.

“No,” he replies, but when Stiles rolls over, one leg hooked to keep him stable, hips pressed up, head down and chest bared, he rethinks it because this is an even better position for… “Yes,” he whispers. “Maybe yes.”

Stiles fist pumps, the motion incongruous with his position, then quickly rights himself and slides down the pole to stand on the ground. “Stop showing off then and let’s get dressed. The rest of this anniversary party is going to be private. And in bed.”

“Our bed?” Jackson untwists himself, pushing off to jump to the stage, closing in quickly on Stiles. He yanks him in close, lets him feel exactly how interested Jackson is in that idea, squeezing Stiles’s ass for emphasis.

“Our bed,” Stiles confirms, kissing him breathless. “Our bed, for several hours, until it’s not our anniversary any more. Any arguments?”

“Not a one.” Jackson pulls away, grabs his clothes. “First one dressed comes first tonight.”

“Hey, I still have to pay.” Stiles fumbles his wallet out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, yanks bills out and lets them fall to the stage. By the time he manages to get the jeans on his body, Jackson is putting on his shoes and straightening his shirt. 

It’s a small victory, but Jackson will take it. He sits on the edge of the stage, enjoys the view as Stiles stumbles through getting dressed. “Hurry up,” he murmurs. “I want to see the rest of your technique.”

“In bed?”

Jackson huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. In bed.” Where they can strip in private and be as loud as they want. It sounds like a perfect anniversary celebration to him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
